


The Case of the Absent Blogger

by Kahvi



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 18:55:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/870886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kahvi/pseuds/Kahvi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The absence of John is everything. It suffuses his skin. It eats at his brain even as it eats itself; it strangles him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Case of the Absent Blogger

The _smell_ in the flat is different; this comes first. And the lack of sound and breathing. He notices these things as he drinks his tea (or not) and listens to nothing at all. Before John, he would talk to the walls and floor and furniture; he would play the violin to bypass words altogether and just express, because that is the act of talking, to Sherlock; his inner communication. His inner dialog, turned outward. It shouldn't matter that John isn't here, but the absence of John is _everything_. It suffuses his skin. It eats at his brain even as it eats itself; it strangles him. 

People joke about it - of course he knows they do; he's not as dimly unaware as he likes to put on - Lestrade chief among them, Mrs. Hudson, in her own way; how John is like a dog he expects to be at beck and call. To fetch when asked. To roll and sit and come; something beyond the threshold of awareness. Or, they say, Sherlock is a cat, content to let John feed and keep him, accepting his presence as a matter of quiet contempt. But they are neither of them pets, and besides, it is all of it the wrong way 'round. It isn't that he's never aware of where John is. It's that he's _always_ aware. And now he is alone, and it is suffocating. 

Masturbation is an easy way out; certainly a fast one. There is no point to drawing it out; it is, and always will be, the simple release of tension, and afterwards, no matter how quickly it comes about, there is a long, dragging, brainless bliss, in which he does not have to think. His refractionary period is shorter and shorter these days, for whatever reason, and so it can be a piecemeal thing; small portions, many courses. That does have its limits, naturally. Eventually.

When there is nothing else, there is the silence, and his mind, which is not. He curls around his phone on the settee and looks at nothing in particular. There are some few other things that can calm him, and one of those things is still allowed, placed very carefully in bag in a box at the back of the airing cupboard and labeled _For Emergencies_ by John. Sherlock knows this isn't an emergency, not quite yet, so he stretches and yawns and tries to sleep, but there is too much quiet outside and not enough in. Moments later he goes for the weed anyway, digging through the shelves for paper and his lighter, because regular cigarettes are not allowed and never will be, and this is a good thing. He falls asleep in absolute clarity, a face and a name on the tip of his brain and tongue suddenly illuminated. 

"Christ..."

The lights are on - it is still morning, but the blinds are down; too much noise, in that light, too much information; this is softer, calmer. The lights have _been turned on_. He raises his head, like an eager puppy, sniffing the air which no longer smells wrong. 

"I was only gone three hours!" He snatches the still-burning cigarette from Sherlock's fingers. "You're lucky the house didn't burn down!"

Sherlock waves for it, aimlessly, but John shakes his head and snatches it closer. "No. You've had more than enough of that. Should have known better than to trust you with an open flame - I'm baking the rest into cakes."

"They'll go stale."

"So will you. Now get up and clean yourself up before breakfast. I got milk; we’ll have pancakes."

Sherlock does. And they do.

"And for fuck's sake, tuck your cock back in."


End file.
